


Arrangement

by lordnelson100



Series: Breviary: Short Tales [13]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn Deserves Nice Things, Arranged Marriage, Arwen Deserves Nice Things, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Here I am writing het, Oral Sex, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordnelson100/pseuds/lordnelson100
Summary: Prompt: on Tumblr, someone suggested that the reality of Arwen and Aragorn might have been more of a political alliance and less of a fairy tale. For me of course, this lead to smutfic.#“My lady,” he says gently. “We knew this to be but a venture. If you cannot like it, you must not try to force your will.”“Perhaps,” she replies, “We should take off our clothes.”He looks a bit staggered at that.





	Arrangement

The last time they met, he was only a little boy. The latest in the many generations of his line who had lived in Rivendell under her father’s care.

They meet again in Lorien, with politics and the fate of their world weighing heavily upon them.

He’s— dismaying.

She’d steeled herself, but _still_. He’s so ragged, and so bristly. His face carries a dirty-looking swathe of stubble that runs all the way down his neck. His hair appears to have been trimmed with a dagger, and it’s matted with sweat and grime. His teeth are uneven. He’s not very tall— well, he’s precisely her height, but she is considered a delicate build among her own people, and she’s used to looking up at her stately father and brothers.

She’s been briefed on his many decades of brave warrior deeds and can see the strength in his body. But she’s more put off than she expected to see that there are already gentle lines in his brow and a sprinkling of grey hairs at his lip. So short, the years of mortals; his will soon be half-spent even if the fates deal a merciful hand, which they rarely do to his house.

She looks for good things: tries to make herself see them. His body appears well-knit; he bears himself with a certain grace in his much-battered mail and leathers. Something about the line of his jaw, his wide mouth, is appealing, under the poorly-shaven hair. His eyes: the best feature so far: they are large, grey, and intelligent.

And amused, now. Oh! He may be a bit more perceptive than she anticipated; or her face is more revealing than she hoped.

“My lady,” he says gently. “We knew this to be but a venture. If you cannot like it, you must not try to force your will.”

“Perhaps,” she says, “We should take off our clothes.”

He looks a bit staggered at that.

 

#

They sit over some wine in her lodgings. The dwellings of her grandmother’s realm are a strange blend of woodland bower and magical architecture. Each lodging is actually quite private, but they blend living tree limb and spell-wrought lacework of stone in a way that feels very _open_ , when you are used to the more solid, traditional walls of Rivendell.

She says with dignity: “It seems to me that we are both in accord on the political needs, Elessar. My father and grandmother and the Wise of our people are agreed, based on both your deeds and certain prophecies, that you will have the best chance in many generations to bring the struggle against the Enemy to its crisis. Though it must be many years hence, if it is to come, we must prepare now for victory if we are to seize the opportunity when it happens. The restoration of a stable throne in the West, a marriage of our houses and the production of heirs, will be an urgent necessity in that case.”

“But Lady Arwen,” says Aragorn, toying with his goblet, “Such a thing must be of great moment to you in other ways besides policy. The laws of the Eldar—-”

'Ah,” she said. “And here we come to it! This is in part why it was necessary that we meet now, in private, and understand one another. You have been raised by my father, and he is— rather old-fashioned in certain ways, though so progressive in his politics.”

He raises one eyebrow. Now comes the trial—

“To begin with, I have had lovers before,” she continues. “Although they were all Elves, of course. And in addition, I am afraid I am no great romantic. It is necessary that we be able to tolerate and respect each other, else we should be miserable. But other than that, we need only lay together to produce heirs, unless we both like it.”

Arwen peeks to see if he appears shocked, or perhaps, disgusted, at her pragmatism. He is musing, it seems.

“We shall have to remain faithful to one another while we both live, of course, so that there is no confusion in others’ minds about our children, should we have them.” She pats his hand encouragingly. “But if, as is likely, I outlive you, I am sure I shall mourn you as a good man—-but I do not expect to remain inconsolable!”

“I suppose,” he says with a half-smile, “That I shall not be in a position to be hurt by it, if it is so!”

“Let us begin with the basics, and make sure that the production of children will present no difficulties! Shall you take off your things, to start?”

With a shrug, he does begin to undress himself. The leathers, bracers, sword, and mail are soon in a heap, and then he is hopping on one foot to take off his boots, and finally, rolls off his leggings. Well, he is good-humored and quick, those are good qualities.

Then Aragorn is standing naked in her bower, looking at her with very little discomfiture in his countenance. If anything, there is something of a sparkle in his eyes. Hmm. Excellently muscled; fine, dark hair on his chest and by his sex; a good many battle-scars. She walks around him in a circle, slowly; she reaches out, and traces one hand over the curve of his backside. She has not loosened so much as a lace of her own clothes, yet.

He had modestly lain one of his hands over his male parts as she inspects him. She reaches out, and with a smile, takes that hand: she raises it to her lips and gives it a gentle kiss.  It is a nice hand: big and warm, though the knuckles are battered and scarred from war. Now she studies what the hand had covered. His cock is good: long, thick, shapely. She reaches down to give it a tender stroke, and he is all at once erect for her, flushed and ready.

She looks at his face: he is rosy with desire, and perhaps a little abashed, but not ashamed. That is good!

“Might I?” he asks, reaching for her gown. She nods. He undoes the top of her dress. She notices that despite the outrageous position in which she has placed him, that his hands are nimble and steady.

He parts her gown and shift, undoes the bodice underneath and ah! He has freed her breasts.  The air feels cool and good on them: her nipples peak. She smiles at him with more than a touch of vanity, for these are one of her favorite beauties of her body.

Aragorn seems to agree, for he steps close, and stares down, handling her breasts eagerly: he parts them, squeezes them, runs caressing hands over them. Then suddenly he is kissing her mouth as well. He is quite the enthusiast at kissing, quite graceful at it, and when he finds her responding willingly, he nudges his tongue just where her lips meet. She parts them, and in a moment his tongue is fierce and hot in her mouth, while one hand squeezes fiercely at one of her tits: squeezes it, then pinches at a nipple. Ai! She gasps at that.

Her own arms and hands are around his warm, bare waist. She smooths her hands over his hips, then moves a hand to his firm cock. Now it is he that breaks the kiss, to moan in a low voice and look longingly at her. “Lie down on the ground, by the hearth, my lord,” she orders him. “And we shall test your devotion further!”

He does exactly as she bids him, and watches her with warm gaze as she undoes her skirts and steps out of them. When she lies down by his side, he brings his hand to her lips. She is a bit curious now, what he will do. Gently, wordlessly, he seeks for her to take two of his fingers into her mouth. She does: they are big, blunt fingers; she licks and suckles at them, and feels the warmth between her legs deepening, softening. He draws his wet fingers from her mouth.

A moment later, he has them between her legs, playing, thrusting. She is slick, ready. She expects that he may ask her for the final favor, now. She is not quite sure if she shall give it to him yet. But instead, he delivers her a saucy smile, and slides himself half-way down her body. And then he is lapping, touching, stirring her, between her legs. She strokes his hair, runs a hand over his broad shoulders, and lets herself settle to enjoy herself.

After some time, she feels the sweetness building, and comes to a languorous climax. Aragorn emerges, panting from between her legs. He really has behaved with great unselfishness! There is his poor prick, still eager, untended all this time. “Well done!” she says regally. “Lie on your side, facing me. Now touch yourself: show me how you come.” She watches with enjoyment as he does: the half-pain, half-pleasure on his face, his hand moving, his chest shining with sweat, his terrible hair falling over his pretty eyes. At last he makes a strangled sound, and comes all over his hand, and the floor.

She enjoys walking naked to the other side of the chamber to fetch an ewer of fresh water, beaded with dew, his eyes on her all the way. Bringing it back to the hearth, she snags a coverlet along the way.  Returning to his side, she cleans the both of them: “My family say I am like a cat,” she says conversationally, “I must always be neatening things about me. I suppose I shall have to do quite a bit of tidying, with you!” She pulls the coverlet over them, when she is done.

“I suppose you may, Lady,” says Aragorn. “Am I to be part of your story, then?”

“I do not think,” she muses, “that heirs will be a problem. At least, the task of trying for them!"

#

 


End file.
